Tar Hit.
Solid lock.
For two seconds – nothing but motor whine and the thud of their own hearts.
“Send it.”
Then:
The gunner’s voice was flat, automatic. No room for doubt. On the thermal display, Tar 124 burned white-hot against the cool gray of the ridgeline – a T-80 hull-down, its turret slewing toward their position.
Tar Hit.
Solid lock.
For two seconds – nothing but motor whine and the thud of their own hearts.
“Send it.”
Then:
The gunner’s voice was flat, automatic. No room for doubt. On the thermal display, Tar 124 burned white-hot against the cool gray of the ridgeline – a T-80 hull-down, its turret slewing toward their position.